


A Rig Of My Own

by hoosierdaddy11



Category: John Cena - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Professional Wrestling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment, ultron - Fandom
Genre: Age of Ultron, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Gay Robots, M/M, Oil, Other, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, champ, oil rigs, the avengers 2 (2015), the avengers age of ultron - Freeform, the marine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierdaddy11/pseuds/hoosierdaddy11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Cena, strict metal-sexual, works on an oil rig outside slam city wondering if he'll ever find the steely lust he desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rig Of My Own

4:30Am. the beeping begins.  
After 13 years of working in the oil fields, john wasn't even fazed anymore. His life had become one routine after another. Cancel the clock, get in the shower, start his coffee, get dressed, grab some grub, then it was out the door and to the rig. From there he would clear security, put on his safety material, and see where they needed him most. Being not only the most experienced, but also the most fit/muscular guy there he was burning tires until his shift ended. Then it was back home to a shitty Luke warm meal, a good sob in the shower, and a few lonely hours lying in bed wondering why he couldn’t find the love he required.   
He remembered when he was a wee boy, about the age of 6. His dad would get home from the hospital where he was head of staffing. He would sit little Johnny down and sing him the praise of a white collar job. But john would have none of it. Even at six he had been drawn to those fields right on the border of slam city where they lived. As he got older his passion for the job only intensified, and turned into something far more severe. The thought of spending an entire day hot and sweaty, surrounded by nothing but steal and oil, it was enough to keep him up at night. He tried dating local girls, thinking maybe if he got some real human interaction it would curb is need for metal but it was to no avail. For him humans were too soft, too weak. Unlike the rigs!   
The first few years on the job life was but a dream. He started right off in his ideal position which was floor hand, meaning his job was to set up, take down, and manipulate the pipes. As to where most men would use the help of cranes and forklifts to place the pipes on top of each other, the only equipment john needed was his swollen biceps, hewn core, and that deep animalistic rage he felt as his body would grip the unrelenting metal. Sometimes they were so thick and so heavy that even he couldn't fit them directly together so he would just have to tap and thrust into them until they locked into place. Usually by the end of days like those there would be more slick in his pants then there was in the drill pumps. But as all good things end, by a certain point of the day, so would his shift and john was left packing his bags for home until 4:30 the next morning where he could be reunited with his industrial loveland.  
Once he left work there was nothing to lift his spirits. The only happiness he had was in those rigs. They were his life and his love and his reason for being, and the longer he gave himself to them, the harder it was to say goodbye at the end of the day (especially considering they could never say goodbye back). What he would give for a life with them, he thought. Just to be able to spend eternity holding them and them somehow growing conscious and holding him back. It was impossible! Not just because the legality of him courting a government owned resource pumping facility, but also because they were inanimate things incapable of ever returning emotions or physicality. But what if they could...he would think as he cried himself to sleep.   
One particularly melancholy night, as he was walking to his Chevy truck to head home, John’s good friend Randy Orton stopped him halfway to invite him out with a few work buds to one of the local dives, right off the port of Slam Harbor. Originally John declined, wishing just to spend the rest of the night wallowing in his romantic withdrawals, but randy was persistent. He knew john well, and was one of the only people that knew about his suffering. He didn't want him to hurt though, at least not alone so he made a good point to give John the incentive of a few free drinks and a cheeky smile to help convince him otherwise. And though John still wasn't particularly thrilled for it all, he recognized the well intent of Randy’s bid and didn't want to make his friend feel scorned so he accepted the chance. Randy lit up as John said “fine” and slapped him on the back as he started leading him to the establishment.   
Upon entering the little hole in the wall bar John’s inner monologue gave out a hardy “It’s not too late to turn back!” once he realized the amount of sea dogs causing a ruckus inside. Now, john had no problem with sailors or out of towners, but he did have an issue with their foul language and lack of RESPECT for the locals and their establishments. Randy could just smell the discomfort coming off of John so he leaned in and reminded him that it was in fact the closest and cheapest place in all of Slam city. Not only did he want to be LOYAL to Randy’s companionship, but he recognized the logic in that and swallowed his discomfort as he made a mad dash for the quietest and least packed area of the bar.   
As he and Randy HUSTLED towards the last available booth, a group of sweaty sailors wiggled their way in. Now the only available seating was to lousy bar stools at the counter next to a large cloaked figure Randy and John knew to waste no time waiting around and to take them as quick as possible. John jumped into the stool at such a high speed that he had a hard time stopping himself and plunged into the figure beside him. Much to his surprise however, the strangers frame did not shift, or budge, or buckle at the force of his dive. It stood hard and firm.. Like metal.  
“JOHN F. KENNEDY! I am so sorry friend, I DID NOT mean to plow into you like that! It’s these dang work boots covered in oil! They'll slip on anything!” John pleaded desperately to the stranger he had bombarded.  
“Oh, gosh you know it's ok. It was just a little physical slip up. I understand you humans. Or . uh. Workers are prone to imbalance. It’s a flaw! We all have flaws! I suppose?” The figure turned, dropping his hood to reveal himself to John as he spoke. He was a specimen to behold. Probably about 8 foot or more standing up. Sculpted in the resemblance of a god out of pure, solid steel. His electric eyes glowed hot and red like the scorching embers of a raging fire. He was built, tight, and showed resemblance to an unimaginable muscularity. He was a dream.  
John couldn’t breathe. Surly he bumped his head harder than he thought. That was the only sense he could come to. That he cracked his skull, died instantly, and was now in heaven. This creature? The voice and thought pattern of a human, the design of a titan, but the flesh of a machine. MACHINE! THAT WAS IT! The creature next to him must be a robot! But John had seen robots. Felt robots. This was not some simple lifeless device, controlled like a puppet at another’s will. One good look into those deep ruby eyes proved that this was a MAN. A free thinking, conscious, feeling MAN. He was just cast of metal. Cast of every single one of Johns desires.   
Ultron as well was undergoing a bit of an epiphany. There was this seemingly all American, typical, hardworking man who was shivering at his feet (which wasn’t unusual). What was unusual however, was the fact that the little glimmer in his eyes, his big beautiful? eyes, it wasn't fear. It was something far different. Something he had never seen before. Something that wasn't harsh and hurtful, but something that was soft and .. Loving? LOVE. Can this be? Is this Possible? Truly no one can love him. He’s a metallic lab rat created by a mad scientist. He was made to be a tool, not a lover. He was designed for “peacekeeping”, not “love making”. For once the ultimate source of artificial intelligence was without answers.  
Silently they stared into each other’s eyes. Until PHEWM! Ultron grabbed John up into his cool arms, blasted a hole into the ceiling with his steamy laser eyes, and swooshed the both of them up, up and away with his rocket calf technology. Within seconds they crash landed into John’s apartment’s living room. John was both breathless and clueless.   
“H-hu-how? Whu-ww-what?...” He stared into his newly found soul mates still smoking eyes, lost for words.   
“Guess I could have given you a warning first. My bad! ” Ultron lets out a synthetic little giggle as he brushes his finger along John's quivering meaty lips. “What I would give to have soft fleshy lips like yours John Cena. My darling. ”  
Up until this point in time John was lost in a mental haze. Finally his chrome knight has arrived and he KNOWS HIS NAME! He could think of nothing else to do but squeeze onto his shiny rocket man and marinade in the fact that his body doesn't bend under his python biceps the way any human had before. But now that Ultron has felt him back in a sweet and gentle way John realizes that this man is more that his fantasy. He’s his destiny, and he must seize him as quick as possible.  
“If you want these fat lips metal man, than how bout you take them for yourself.”  
At that moment Ultron's eyes grew huge and powerful and he zapped the cloths off of John's ripped oily body. They then embraced in a hot and passionate oral grapple. Sparks were literally flying. The electrocuting sensation pulsed through John thick sweaty body and found its way to his gorging 10 inch dong that was flexing so violently that it sounded like a cattle bell being struck against Ultron's metal frame. Ultron let out a sultry chuckle and whispered “likewise!”, as he extended his 13 inch robotic boner into the close space between them. It was smoldering hot, red, ribbed, and leaking oil at its impressive baseball sized head.   
“My own little rig!” John blurted out as he stared at the boners grandeur. “Now give me some of that ooey-gooey!” Ultron purred as he dropped past John’s knobby knees and started vacuuming away at his meat man’s penis.   
A complex and never ending sexual display then lasted 4 months straight until all of john’s wet salty semen corroded Ultron's anus causing him to die of butt rust. John died soon after of tetanus.   
3 ;( R.i.p. . but the love is immortal. Xoxoxo.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be between John and "the spine" from steam powered giraffe, but i'm not actually a fan of the band and after seeing age of ultron i was trancended by ultron raw sexualiity and decided he was more deserving of the champ.


End file.
